Juliet Not!
by E. Wallace
Summary: Quoting Shakespeare is all well and good, but Jean-Luc is cautioned to choose his words carefully.


Juliet... Not!  
By E. Wallace  
1999

They beamed down to Setag IV in time to watch the sunset from the balcony of the house they had rented for their stay. A perfect scattering of clouds added to the spectacular display -- blue sky streaked with blazing orange flames of the setting sun turning purple-pink as darkness swept in. The stars, winking in one by one, provided a romantic backdrop to their intimate dinner.

When she went to bathe, the night suddenly closed in on him. He was downstairs and out the door before he was conscious of moving at all. The faint breeze whispering through the blossoming tree at the end of the porch cooled his fevered skin, but not enough. His beloved stars were little comfort tonight, their calming effect diminished because they were no longer the most important things in his life.

A deep breath... a second... a third, and his heart still refused to set a steady beat.

They had been lovers for nearly a year, why was he nervous now? Their lives had been intertwined for decades; how could their relationship seem more real today than it had yesterday?

What was it about those few, simple, heart-felt vows that made him feel as though he had been given a new life?

Because now and forever, "until death do us part", he was irrevocably bound to the woman who had owned his heart and soul from the moment he met her.

The padding of bare feet on the balcony above drew him out of his thoughts and back to the present.

Carefully keeping to the shadows of the tree, he stepped off the porch and looked up. His breath stopped when he saw she was wearing Marie's gift.

In the muted light of the small bedside lamp, she looked like a mythical goddess of fire in the red-gold silk nightgown, the crown of auburn hair, still slightly damp from her bath, curling around her face adding an ethereal touch to the image she presented. Held up by narrow straps, the gown barely brushed the floor, and the side slits, edged in delicate lace, parted when she moved to allow an occasional, fantasy-provoking glimpse of her shapely legs.

The low cut neckline revealed more as she rested her arms on the balcony railing and leaned forward. She tilted her face up, eyes closed, reveling in the perfumed night air.

Although he was certain he had not made a sound, she cocked her head, then opened her eyes and looked down to the precise spot where he stood.

"Quote even one line of "Romeo and Juliet", Jean-Luc Picard," she said in a falsely sweet voice, "and you'll be spending the night down there."

Mercifully, Shakespeare's immortal words died on his lips a nano second before he could speak them. Flustered, he began to improvise. "Fairest Beverly, your beauty takes away my breath and my reason that I can do naught but rely on the words of others. Why dislike you the Bard so?"

She joined the impromptu play with ease. They had seduced one another with words many times. The discovery that he reacted to her voice as strongly as she did to his had been an empowering piece of knowledge. "My admiration of Master Shakespeare is beyond question. I have had the great privilege of performing roles in many of his fine works."

"And yet you beseech me not to use his words to woo my own fair maiden." The pose of one hand over his heart while reaching out to her with the other was a bit overwrought but endearing nonetheless.

Beverly blushed at the 'maiden' misnomer, though she was quite delighted not to deserve the title. "You speak of wooing... and wish to use the lines of a tragedy to do it?"

"A tale of star-crossed lovers tugs not at your heartstrings, sweet lady?"

He took three steps toward the house, and it required all her self-discipline not to move down the balcony nearer to him. Tonight's verbal seduction might be mutual, but she wanted him to come to her.

"Possibly... in the right setting... but not this night. Tonight is for enduring love. Romeo was just as inconstant as the moon that Juliet begged him not to swear by."

"Was young Montague not truly dedicated to his beloved?"

"Was he not passionately in love with Rosaline until he saw Juliet?" she countered swiftly and then smiled down at him beguilingly. "And they were far too young to comprehend a love that spans years instead of merely hours or days. They knew only the white-hot burst of youthful desire."

A slow smile spread across Jean-Luc's face, and he moved again, this time out of her sight. Beverly listened, expecting footsteps on the porch then him coming in the front door. She heard only the rustling of leaves...

...and the creaking of wood...

...creaking that wasn't footsteps on the porch.

_'Oh, God, he's not...'_

Hurrying to the end of the balcony, her breath caught as she looked over the railing down into his wonderful hazel eyes and realized that he _was_ climbing the ivy-covered trellis that ran up the side of the porch to the balcony. She mentally crossed her fingers, hoping the structure would hold. She didn't want to spend the better part of the night patching up her new husband.

He was there, advancing toward her with a smoldering passion in his eyes that called to her very soul. One hand cupped her cheek as the other slid around her waist, heating her skin through the silk. "I feel that 'white-hot burst of youthful desire' every time I look at you."

"As do I." She leaned in but didn't kiss him. "It is our great fortune that we also share the warmth of friendship and the comfort of companionship that those two children couldn't understand."

She took the single step necessary to bring their bodies into contact, smiling at his soft gasp. "Besides, a man on his honeymoon should be thinking Shakespeare's sonnets or "Song of Solomon" or possibly the "Kama Sutra", but most certainly not tragedy." Her fingertips caressed his chest lightly, teasingly and her lips hovered tantalizingly close to his. "If we die tonight, my love, it will be from exquisite pleasure, not some silly misunderstanding."

His reply, if he could have made one, was lost in her hungry kiss. The ever-present spark flared between them, making all thoughts of prose and poetry vanish into a haze of desire.

It was a full two days before they left the house.

The End


End file.
